


Crush, Kill, Destroy, Swag

by haunted_juicebox



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Graphic Description, Major Original Character(s), Other, Whump, he/him and they/them pronouns for Sawyer, not John Seed friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29555784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haunted_juicebox/pseuds/haunted_juicebox
Summary: Sawyer takes care of John. Not in the wholesome way.
Relationships: Deputy | Judge/Nick Rye





	1. Part 1

“Partner, it’s Nick. I’m not lettin’ that motherfucker get away with this. I can fly if you need... just say the word.”

“No.”

Nick faltered. _No?_ His breathing was still uneven, every now and then coming out in a shaky wheeze all thanks to his new souvenir from John. It hurt like a motherfucker - he’s still covered in his own blood, but it’s starting to dry. He’s still shirtless, but it’s starting to get cold in the church. He couldn’t keep himself from trembling ever so slightly. The adrenaline, the anger, the shock and the injury are too fucking much and it’s not fair that he’s stuck here _it’s not fair_ \--

“Sawyer- please--” His voice involuntarily cracked into a pained sound in response to a new wave of agony brewing in his chest and he took a sharp inhale. He mentally cursed himself for letting it through. _Sawyer is already going to be hard enough to convince_ without _these fucking noises goddammit._

There was no answer from the radio this time, so Nick tried again. He had the device gripped so tightly his knuckles went white, and if the chunky radio wasn’t such an old fossil he likely would’ve crushed it.

“I _need_ to do this, a-after everything that demon son of a bitch has done--”

“Nick I said _**no!”**_ Deputy Banks’ voice crackled through the radio loudly. That was not something _anyone_ liked to hear. Even through the static, there was no mistaking the finality in their words. “Take care of yourself,” they added more softly, in a tone that Nick recognized as the one Sawyer saved for their closest friends. Still -- he couldn’t believe it. He had to see John Seed kick the bucket he needed to and if he didn’t then how could he be sure the bastard was _gone??_ How _? HOW THE FUCK CAN HE BE SURE?_

The church spun dangerously, only adding to his lurching nausea. It was getting hard to focus on anything. Of course he trusted Sawyer but if he didn’t see John take his last breath... with his own eyes...

“Nick!” A surge of hopefulness whirred his brain into overdrive as he strained to listen, _please god please let it be Sawyer changing his mind._ “Nick, are you with us? Hold on.” Nick’s spirits fell, again, and he opened his eyes to confirm who was talking to him. It was Jerome. The pastor’s hands were suddenly on him, and thank god they were warm because the cold air was prickling at his bare chest and only getting worse. 

A gasp escaped someone’s mouth and Nick later realized it was his own, caused by someone’s prodding fingers painfully close to his wound. A peggie had slapped a shitty bandage over it earlier, but by now the white gauze was soaked through a dark red. Voices were echoing around but all Nick could hear was his own heartbeat. Why? Why was it so loud? 

_...How deep did John cut?_

His thoughts surpassed his consciousness’ ability to keep up and suddenly he was bombarded with the sick imagery of his own fucking heart twitching inside an open chest cavity in a mess of slick and red and-- and--

“ _Easy_ ,” Jerome exhaled, propping up his friend as gently as possible as Nick dry heaved, trying not to jostle him. Jerome got a decent look at the wound, and although it was definitely gonna scar, Nick would be fine. Most likely.

\---

_Thump_. 

Sawyer unceremoniously dropped John’s limp body onto the muddy ground before them. A fitting place, if any, for the psychopath to take his final breath. John doesn’t move - so maybe he already has. He must’ve succumbed to his injuries. The deputy leans down above the form, taking a deep breath and feeling some twisted innate sense of accomplishment. No more John Seed terrorizing Holland Valley, or sending Chosen after him, or making Nick’s life a living hell. 

He reached out to grab that silver key around the Baptist’s neck, which has been all but taunting him up to this point, and wrapped his fingers around the cord just as John’s arm thrust forward and grabbed Sawyer. 

He nearly jumped and was about to throw a bruiser at the sudden zombie but then he saw John’s face. Dotted with blood and dirt and who knows what else. The expression couldn’t be missed - John was scared.

“What if Joseph is right? Did... you ever stop to think about that?” John slurred quickly as fear visibly overtook him. This was a man who feared death and he knew it was coming for him soon. Sawyer didn’t reply, only stared into bright blue eyes. Despite John presumably being in his final moments, they still shimmered with life. “Everyone thinks he’s crazy but he’s not. Look around you... the world is on the brink... you can feel it in your _bones_...”

John stares at the deputy, desperately trying to incite a reaction. Something. Anything. 

But they don’t say a word. 

“Look at the headline,” he tried again, giving Sawyer’s arm a weak shake. He was going to die here. In the dirt. Alone. John couldn’t believe it. Didn’t _want_ to believe it. He let out a strained laugh in fear or irony... probably both. “Look at who is in charge--” that last word sends him into a coughing fit, and it hurts all over, but he’s so numb at this point that he’s hardly phased. He feels Sawyer start to ever so gently pull on the key and it gives him the strength for one final push. “You want this key because you think you’re saving people but they are already safe. We had a plan,” he spits.

With everything he can muster, he shouts at the deputy. “You don’t understand - you don’t believe - you don’t _CARE!”_

With that, Sawyer finally yanks the key off the cord and John’s too weak to keep hold of his arm. Sawyer meets his gaze again and John is too petrified to look away - which baffles him, honestly, because he’s minutes away from death. What exactly is there to be afraid of?

“Are you happy with yourself?” The question is abrupt. It catches John off guard. He studies the deputy’s face and finally it clicks: he’s angry about the bastard Rye.

There’s a pause where neither of them speak. John finds a sliver of satisfaction in knowing he was able to get _something_ out of the deputy.

“Yes.” John’s favorite word. Yes, he’s happy that he was able to help Nick atone. If only he could’ve helped Sawyer too.


	2. Part 2

Without a leader to flock to, many of the peggies left in Holland Valley were lost and not much of a threat. Even if trouble managed to come to Fall’s End, Sawyer trusted Mary-May to take care of Joey, so there was comfort in knowing his companion would be safe. 

As they exited the Spread Eagle they pulled out their radio. Their first instinct was to call Nick directly but with the chance of him being asleep, Sawyer thought otherwise. Instead they hit Jerome and spoke into the receiver. “Jeffries. Give me an update on Nick,” he asked in a worry-tinted near-monotone. To anyone else it might’ve sounded like a demand, but Jerome knew Sawyer well. They had no ill feelings towards their friends. That’s kinda just how they talked.

“He’s all patched up,” Jerome responded from the radio after a moment. “The doctor okayed his leave and I drove him home already. He’s there now.”

“Alone?”

“He... well, he wanted to get some rest.”

Sawyer huffed softly. Someone he cared about was hurt, it was only natural that he was feeling protective. None of this was Jerome’s fault; no need to interrogate him.

“Alright. And thank you, Jerome.” _For taking care of him._

“Thank _you_ , Deputy. Thank you from all of us, for freeing the valley. Hopefully this will give us the upper hand that we need.”

Sawyer couldn’t agree more.

\----

Rye and Sons’ Aviation was eerie in these dark hours of the night. Which was odd, because during the day it was seen as a safe haven. Nick, bless his heart, was known among the resistance to open his doors to stray civilians of Hope County, lost or in need of shelter when escaping the Baptist.

At first, Sawyer chastised him for this, explaining that it was too dangerous, but Nick stood his ground and declared he’d be damned if he didn’t help the people of his community when they needed it most. 

At the end of the day though he was one man, living alone, so of course the lot would seem empty and vacant at night. Especially if he was injured and supposed to be resting. Still, it pulled on Sawyer’s heart a little when they didn’t see him jogging out to greet them with that big ol’ goofy smile like he usually did.

The farmhouse had acquired a creaky board here and there simply due to age, but when Sawyer stepped on these, it made the bare minimum noise. Sawyer entered the house quietly and discarded his weapons on the porch. He took off his deputy overshirt, trying to ignore the dark stains left behind by the man whose body was still up in the woods.

He froze, if only for a moment. Maybe he should’ve done something with the body. Where do you draw the line when it comes to who deserves a proper burial and who does not?

They shook their head to clear that thought. They’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, they needed to see a certain someone. But when that certain someone wasn’t where they were supposed to be... Sawyer readied for the worst. 

“Nick?” he called out as soon as it became obvious that the guy was not, in fact, conked out in his bed like he should be. _Fuck_. John was dead! He wasn’t supposed to bother them anymore!

With worry anew, Sawyer ducked in and out of nearly every room in the house. When his searching turned up nothing, they retrieved a revolver from their array of weapons on the porch. They had the full intention of using it if need be, because Sawyer had dealt with enough today as it is.

God have mercy on whoever stood between them now.

“Nicholas!” He yelled for him again, hastily stalking back out of the house. They were about to leave (where, who knows. They had zero leads) when they saw a faint light illuminating through the cracks of the hangar door. Was he in there? Was someone else in there? Sawyer expected anything and quietly shuffled into the hangar, gun raised. 

Turns out they didn’t even need it: because his eyes fell onto the figure curled up on the couch, and the sudden relief it granted was immeasurable. 

“Nick,” Sawyer sighed softly, letting all of his unease out in a silent exhale. He tucked the gun away and approached the couch, taking in his companion as he settled onto his knees on the floor. Nick had looked at them when they first came in but now he stared straight up at the ceiling, brows pulled together in contempt. “How are you feeling?”

He didn’t answer. Sawyer knew he’d heard, because his expression softened the slightest bit, but clearly he was trying to give him the silent treatment. _Well, he must be feeling a little better if he can act like this,_ Sawyer thought. 

“I took care of him. You won’t see him again. I promise.” They didn’t need to elaborate on who the _him_ in question was.

“.....Goddammit Sawyer,” Nick broke after only a few moments, closing his eyes as his expression melted into something more passive. Sawyer took Nick’s hat off his head - because for some reason he’d had it on all this time. He sleeps in the damn thing if he can - and ran long fingers through the messy mop of dark hair.

Sawyer didn’t know the true extent of the scars that John had left Nick with. Nor did Nick know about Sawyer's battles with anything other than the cult. But hey, they're willing to learn. 


End file.
